


800mg Of Ibuprofen For Breakfast

by OrangeJuiceLesbian



Series: Hawaiian Shirts And Bad Excuses [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And he goes out with most of the avatars, April Fools' Day, Aromantic Sasha James, Bisexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Bonfire Night, Cats, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Easter, Easter Bunny, Easter Egg Hunt, F/F, F/M, Fireworks, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), Halloween, Halloween Costumes, He also tried to fit into a dryer, Holidays, IKEA, IKEA Furniture, Jon hiding in the air vents with Jurgen Leitner, LonelyEyes' many divorces, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Martin the arsonist, Moth and lamp, Mugs, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Resolutions, Other, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prankster Tim Stoker, The Holidays, The Mechanisms Were Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist's College | University Band, Tim believes in the Easter Bunny, Tim can't do maths, Tim's Hawaiian shirts, Timothy 'bi-con' Stoker, Using the institute's credit card because fuck elias and fuck capitalism, Valentine's Day, Wine, elias is always in black stiletto boots because this is my fic, more cats, nerf guns, toilet paper mummies, what the girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeJuiceLesbian/pseuds/OrangeJuiceLesbian
Summary: A look at the Archival staff during the holidays, where they are all fine and alive.The Institute’s version of pest control and coaster-thrower; the IKEA-furniture-building ex-police officer; the blind, knife-wielding lesbian; the multiple-braincell-owning podcaster; the mother hen/tea god/spider saviour; the immortal space pirate with no navigational skills; the tech-nerd-turned-Nerf-Rambo; and the boy who believes in the Easter Bunny. Conventional? No. Family? Yes.Ft. Bi-Con Tim and his Hawaiian shirts, plus Jon's awful excuses to get him out of these events.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Original Character(s)
Series: Hawaiian Shirts And Bad Excuses [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132460
Comments: 31
Kudos: 101





	1. Brace Yourself: The First Hangover Is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be way more fluffy, but became very Tim-centric very quick. You can also tell this when reading Chapter 7, which was the first I wrote.
> 
> And thank you to my housemates for supplying me with material for some of this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've gone for New Year's drinks, and are making resolutions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There won't be many trigger warnings, because it's just meant to be a laugh, but I'm still going to do it.
> 
> TWs: drinking alcohol, and very, very mild sadness for approx. 2 seconds.

“Happy New Year!” rang out through the pub that Jon had been dragged to by the others (Tim, Sasha, Martin, Melanie, Georgie, Basira, and Daisy) as the bells rang out from the TV in the corner, and from outside.

Normally, Jon would have found a way to get out of doing this sort of thing with _other people_ , but when Tim mentioned going to the pub for New Year’s, Jon made the poor decision to answer.

_“Actually, I’m busy.”_

_“Oh yeah, what with?” Tim asked, as he could see that Martin had been walking past, heard, and was now standing a couple of meters behind Jon, who looked a little confused, but smiled. T’was silently decided neither would alert Jon to his presence. Martin who knew full-well that they didn’t have plans, but really wanted to see where this was going._

_“I… I have to take my dog to the vets.”_

_“You don’t have a dog.” Tim didn’t even miss a beat._

_“I have to take someone else’s dog to the vets.”_

_“Jon, who do you know that has a dog? Secondly, who do you know outside of work?”_

_Jon stumbled slightly, “Er… I am… just busy. With stuff. That’s it, my mother is coming to visit, and I can’t.” Jon would have loved to tell Tim to go back to work, but at the time, they were all getting ready to leave. “Anyway, I am going to miss the train- oh god how long have you been standing there?” As Jon had turned to walk away, he was met with Martin’s smirking face and the sound of Tim laughing behind him._

_“Your parents died when you were young, you’re not getting out of it that easily. Also, you’ve got loads of time before you miss the train,” Martin explained, and how could Jon be even remotely irritated by him for it. “Jon, come on. We might as well. The other two options are either we play horse or laminator again, or you re-count the spoons.”_

_“There is one missing, and I’m going to find it,” he said in all seriousness. This was when Jon realised he had failed at getting out of it this year. Tim made a mental note to never let them choose what was played on game night._

Fast-forward to the pub, and Tim had just got a round in (five pints for the theydies and ladies, rosé for Martin, a glass of, quote, “Woo Woo” for Jon, and a Sex On The Beach for himself, with one of those tiny umbrellas that he specifically requested) - this was the last time Jon would let Tim choose his and Martin’s drinks.

Jon didn’t understand why he couldn’t be at home curled up on the sofa with Martin and their cat, The Captain: New Year wasn’t that big of a deal for any of them, it just meant that everyone would come up with resolutions they wouldn’t keep, and that everyone would drink more than should be possible. After a lecture the previous evening on New Year’s resolutions, Martin told him to just pick something because it would be easier.

Sasha was the first one to ask, “So boss, what’s your resolution for the next day and half?” over the music, expecting Jon to just scowl and mumble something about them being stupid.

“I’m going to pet more cows than normal.” Martin didn’t know what Jon had picked, so when he heard this, he just about managed to not choke on his drink out of laughter. Even behind her glasses, Melanie just listened to the scene in utter bewilderment, then decked her pint so quick Georgie grabbed their own in fear of losing it to their wife.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” Sasha began turning to Tim, “But I have to ask about the shirt.” She nodded at the print on his shirt. Tim had managed to find a Christmas Hawaiian shirt.

“Google. I got it by typing ‘christmas hawaiian shirt’ into Google.” This was not true. Tim had spent a few weeks going around shopping centres looking for one. It was only after he found and bought the shirt that he realised search engines existed.

“Right. And the Heelys?”

Tim had been wearing his new (actually, no one was even sure you could get them anymore, so maybe they weren’t new) Heelys all day, and the main reason that everyone knew he had these shoes, was because Tim could not control the fuckers. You see, Heelys have tiny little wheels embedded in the heel section of the sole of a shoe, and therefore you could skate along. Ideally. Tim wasn’t skating, he was more… falling sideways in every direction except the one he wanted to go in, and into everyone except Melanie, because he would rather suffer any injury than face her wrath. This was also the reason Tim was walking around the pub in his socks. “Shots, anyone?”

Daisy stood up, “Yes, if you’ll give me your card. I’d rather not end up with something similar to what Jon’s glaring at.” He still hadn’t tried the offending drink in fear of its contents. Begrudgingly, he fished out his card and passed it over, as Basira stood to help bring the drinks back. “So, what are everyone else’s resolutions?” Tim asked, watching expectantly, “And please don’t say anything generic, I will throw my shoe at you. So, Jon wants to pet more cows…”

Melanie stuck her hand up, “I think I’m going to eat more cheese platters.”

“That’s the stuff!” Tim laughed, retrieving some paper and a pen from his bag, “C’mon, I’m making sure we all stick to these. Sasha?”

“I think that at least once a month, I’ll spend more than £4.50 on a bottle of wine” she spoke, after much deliberation, watching the slightly horrified look on Martin’s face, knowing how cheap the wine she bought herself was. Tim let her have that. This was also when Daisy and Basira came back to the table with enough shots for two each and passed them around (they may have decked a couple of extra ones at the bar without anyone noticing. What Tim didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Probably). With a short interval for a quick ‘cheers’ and down, and Jon trying not to cough as he didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t do shots, Melanie got them up to speed.

“Alright,” Daisy nodded, “I think I’m going to start learning how to throw beer mats with good aim.” She took one look at the table, picking up everyone’s glasses and collecting the mats they were sat on. “There. Already started. Who’s left?”

Tim started counting on his fingers and muttering to himself what everyone had declared their resolutions, “Martin, Georgie, Basira, and me.”

“Ooh, I’ve got one for Georgie,” Melanie stuck her hand up like a primary school pupil, clearly excited as she turned to her partner, “Why don’t you learn about species of mushrooms?”

The grin on her face meant that this was something between them, and everyone was likely to learn about it in 3, 2, 1…

“Okay, fuck off. I know about mushrooms.”

“Name five species of mushroom.” At Melanie’s request, Georgie’s eyes went wide with panic. The silence of the group was almost painful, as everyone tried so desperately not to start laughing - even Tim was doing his best, and that was saying something.

“Er, button mushrooms. The big ones. Long mushrooms. Fine, I see your point… next person please. Anyone. I’m going to get another drink,” Georgie huffed, getting up for whatever the strongest, cheapest alcohol they can find at the bar is. They weren't upset, but they were waiting for Melanie to bring up other topics they didn’t know much about. There was too much ammunition.

“On that note, I think my resolution shall be that all disputes must be resolved with pillow fights,” Martin smiled, “Sasha, next time we can get the Institute’s credit card, we need some new pillows.” It was immediately written down for later. “Basira?”

She’d been thinking for a few minutes now. She needed something good, but nothing was coming to her. Basira thought about her daily life, and what she could do that wouldn’t make too much of an impact.

“I guess I could stop using gates properly. Like, jump and climb over them, no matter the height.” Tim wrote it down, nodding as he did. Which just left him.

“This year, my dear friends, the only hallucinogens I’ll ingest shall be naturally grown magic mushrooms.” There was a collective sigh at the table, even Georgie, returning from the bar stumbling slightly, heard this.

Sasha turned towards him, changing the subject, “How is Mike these days?”

Tim did the unthinkable. _He went very quiet_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but he’s fine. Off with a friend of his tonight. Not like I asked him to join us…”

They didn’t like it. Tim didn’t get sad. He didn’t do this, and it wasn’t right. It was funny at first, Tim and Michael’s odd relationship, but knowing Michael didn’t want to see Tim on New Year’s Eve stung slightly. By simply looking around the table, anyone could see them all racking their brains for _anything_ that might help. The quiet was getting to Jon, and he just panicked, “Tim, what is in this?” looking in the drink he’d been presented with earlier.

“Oh,” Tim chuckled, “I have no idea. I just thought it sounded funny, and therefore Jon had to have it,” he picked up the drinks menu, “Apparently it’s vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice.”

It made it much better when Jon made a noise of disgust, pulling his face further.

The sadness completely left when he then tried the drink. Sasha was so thankful she filmed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only really know about Wetherspoons drinks. So yes, they are at a Wetherspoons, even though they aren't open 24 hours at New Year. And yes, I did name the cat The Captain in reference to BBC's Ghosts.


	2. Team Himbo Uses One Brain Cell. It Is Not Effective.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day, and everyone is going out for dinner separately. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: drinking alcohol

If you had asked Jon five years ago, he did not enjoy Valentine’s Day. Nowadays, it was just about tolerable. Maybe a bit more than tolerable because Martin. Martin always made such an effort anyway, but it meant that Jon could show his boyfriend how much he loved him too without Martin trying to get even with him. What Jon didn’t like, though, was the incessant desire that people (Tim, Sasha, and he found Georgie doing it too) have to decorate the Archives with hearts. And not even the anatomically correct kind. That would have been appreciated.

Even Elias seemed to be in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, although Jon did suspect that, after seeing all the cards in his office, Elias may have written and sent them to himself (if asked this was his version of treating Peter to dinner). It was all too… icky.

This feeling suddenly left Jon slightly when he sat down at his desk, and noticed the cup of tea, the card, and a gift bag. While he wouldn’t put it past Tim, Jon was pretty sure it was from Martin as the handwriting indicated. Martin also clearly knew him too well and had in fact left a card on his desk with an anatomically correct heart on the front, which just made Jon melt slightly, smiling to himself.

They’d chosen to go out that evening, rather than stay in like in years gone by, so it was up to him to find somewhere Martin would like. There was a restaurant nearby that Jon thought looked nice enough, but he was sure he hadn’t seen it before. Whether that was because it was new or he was simply unobservant, it didn’t really matter, the reservation had been booked the same evening for 7PM, giving him and Martin enough time to go back to their flat and get changed after work.

❤️

Martin looked up at the sign, “La Bonne Vache. What does that mean?”

“I’ve no idea. Probably something about France. I hope it’s alright though,” Jon smiled, holding one of the doors open.

It was alright, actually. Reasonably fancy (the Institute credit card may be being used, because fuck Elias), and, amazingly, not overly crowded for the 14th of February. Not bad going at all. They were directed to a table to one side, lit with a candle like in the movies, and they sat down. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Jon’s eyes went wide as he looked over to the doors, before hiding his head in his hands before-

“Hey boss! Marto!” Before Tim saw him. Followed by Sasha. Both with shit-eating grins (and Tim’s finger guns) as they saw Jon and Martin.

Jon had two choices: 1. He could hide under the table, or 2. He could just run. Unfortunately, there was a third choice, because he knew he couldn’t do that to Martin. “What are you two doing here? I remember specifically telling neither of you where we were going for Valentine’s,” he huffed, exasperated. Even Martin looked a little bit suspicious as he waved a ‘hello’.

“The beau’s busy - Jane’s taking me out tomorrow instead - and I still wanted to do something,” he said, then looked over to Sasha pointedly letting her explain why she was there.

“Oh! I’m only here because I like food, and Tim’s paying,” Sasha announced.

“Am I?”

“Yep,” Sasha giggled then turned to a nearby waiter, “Ooh, please could I have a wine list. Thanks.”

“Sash, no,” Tim said with no ill-feelings behind it, his eyes soft.

“Sash, yes.”

Jon looked almost traumatized to Martin, who smiled because he somehow wasn’t surprised that two of their co-workers had found them, especially with the restaurant being so close to the Institute. “Well, at least it’ll be a date to remember. A good story to tell in years to come, eh?” Martin laughed, “And I'd rather Sasha than Jane, she really bugs me. Anyway, at least it’s just those two- oh brilliant.”

That was when Melanie and Georgie appeared and stood at their table. Because if two of them were going out, what were the rest to do with their lives? Sit around and wait, or just follow them?

“Fuck this, pass me the drinks menu. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to cope,” Jon made a grabby motion towards Martin, who half him a half-glare.

“I was going to ask what you two were doing here, but you live close enough,” Martin huffed, trying not to sound annoyed. This was starting to take the piss.

Georgie snorted, “We were just about to ask you two the same thing, then I saw Tim and Sasha. How did we all end up here? All of us, at the same time.”

Melanie, who was holding Georgie’s arm, clearly had not been aware of the other archival assistants being there, as her shoulders dropped, and muttered something to herself. She looked as pleased as Jon did, whose drinks had just arrived: 2 glasses of red, and 2 glasses of white. Martin obviously must have given a confused look, as Jon didn’t drink white wine if he had the option of red (in his opinion, it tasted like posh vinegar), because Jon blushed a little, and softly said, “What? I’m not just going to order for myself. You seemed preoccupied, so I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh-oh! Th-thank you,” Martin stuttered, reminding himself of the first date they went on, and how nervous he was at first. It took him a good month to stop, but here they were.

As he sipped at his wine, Georgie and Melanie sat down at their table (all three of the tables were surprisingly close together, as though it had been planned like that), and Jon spoke up again, “Yes, and I may have the company card, so drink up everyone.” With this, Martin swiftly finished both glasses, before asking for two more for him and Jon; at Melanie’s request, Georgie found the most expensive bottle of drink and ordered two; Sasha just headed towards the bar after giving them a thumbs up; and Tim exclaimed, with the purest of joy, “You mean, Jackanory Mango is paying? Waiter, please bring me your finest bottle of Fruit Shoot and a vintage pack of Cheese Strings!”

Before anyone could order their food, now just to soak up the alcohol, the doors opened one more time: “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cosy?” came a voice from the entrance. The only two missing from the whole ordeal, Basira and Daisy, stood with matching smug smiles. Stood, that was, until they moved towards the others.

“Not that I’m not happy to hear your voices, but why am I not surprised that you’re here too?” Melanie questioned, draining her first glass of the expensive stuff.

“See, the thing is,” Basira began, taking her seat at another table that was surprisingly close, “We actually knew you would all be here, because I actually spoke to you all in the last week and figured it out, and that none of you knew the others had tables booked. Me and Daisy knew it would be entertaining to watch, so here we are."

Oh, so it was Basira that had the Archive’s brain cell at the moment.

“Great, a work outing. And, we’ve got the work credit card too, so make sure you over-order on everything,” Jon called over, as he and Martin clinked their glasses together and smiled at one another. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

“Jackpot. Right, what’ll you have, Daisy?”

“I’ll have a pint of the black stuff, ‘Sira,” rather clearly indicating the beer known formally as ‘Guinness’.

“You can’t drink a pint of Bovril,” Sasha snorted into her cocktail, completely serious in her statement. This was, perhaps, her sixth one. No one was really counting.

“Tim, that isn’t a challenge, so don’t you dare,” Martin lent out to look Tim dead in the eye as he said it, because Martin knew where this was going if he didn’t. The last time it happened, the next day Rosie found Tim in the breakroom eating instant coffee by the spoonful.

Basira stopped a passing waiter, "Hi, is there any chance I can get a margarita, and also a children's menu for him?" pointing at Tim.

They hadn't even ordered food yet.

❤️

All eight of them left at around half nine, with far too much alcohol in their systems, but it did make for an entertaining spectacle for the waiters. Against the cold February air, a couple of them (and we can all guess who) fared worse, despite being very specifically told to bring warm coats, otherwise _someone_ was going to lose his jumper, wasn’t he?

Martin didn’t mind really, he only feigned annoyance each time. Jon looked so small and sweet when he was almost drowning in Martin’s woollen jumpers, especially when they curled up together. Even now, holding hands as they stumbled every so often, Martin couldn’t help but smile when he was meant to at least be trying to look irked. Never mind, it was Valentine’s day. Speaking of, “I-I like your shirt, very… lovey dovey,” Georgie slurred their words.

“Thank you,” Tim beamed, swishing his Valentin's Day Hawaiian shirt at the edges. He had a year's worth of these to go, and he’d be damned if he forgot his Valentine’s Day one. Still a shame that he lost those Heelys though (Tim’s ‘luck’ had finally run out, and he collided with Melanie. Sometimes he can still hear the screams… of his Heelys being destroyed with knives and fire, that is).

After a few more minutes of drunken wandering (from all but Daisy, who was not helping, much to her own amusement), each pair began to split off, in search of their apartments, bidding each other a good night. Tim and Sasha were the last to leave the group, as Sasha lived close to Jon and Martin, and Tim was sleeping on her sofa for that evening, leaving the other two to just about navigate their building.

20 minutes later, three flights of stairs, and Martin whining, “Jon, _shoes_ ,” they were passed out on their bed, with The Captain hanging off the edge, as she didn’t want to get squished.

Shame no one had considered the fact it was a Tuesday, and everyone had work the next day...


	3. I'm Straight. April Fools! LMAO, Can You Imagine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is having the time of his life; Jon is nowhere to be found; Martin is finding it all rather unfair; and Sasha is turning into Rambo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: mild pain

The first of April was a day that everyone in the Archives hated - everyone except Tim. That was because it was Tim’s fault. Technically, it was Danny’s fault; Danny got Tim into the whole April Fools’ Day thing. But that's not the point. Tim planned for this over a month prior and was very good about being secretive about it. This didn’t make any of his pranks ‘clever’, they were the same childish things every year-round (and yes, it was safe to say that he’d taken them from American sitcoms and mockumentaries). But this year, this year Jon had had enough.

Jon had, for some time now, been finding the best hiding places in the Archives, as he had very specifically been told that yes, he had to come in on April Fools’ Day.

_“And why do you have to take Wednesday off?” Martin had asked over dinner, raising an eyebrow and his glass of wine._

_There was a pause for an uncomfortable amount of time before Jon answered, “I have to do my tax returns.” Definitely better than pretending to have a dog._

_“You have never done your tax returns once in your life.”_

_“Damn,” Jon sighed, and twitched as though in pain for a moment, “Sometimes I miss having secrets from you.”_

If he stayed very, very quiet, no one was going to find Jon. He’d been thinking about this for the last few weeks, knowing that Tim would go overload, but he still needed to be at work. So, what better way to spend April Fools’ Day, than in the air vents. After telling Jurgen Leitner to fuck off twice, Jon had found the perfect spot where he could sit with his flask of tea Martin had made him that morning, some admin, and his phone (that was definitely on silent) while watching what was happening in the break room. He’d been planning this for the last month and a half, not even telling Martin what he was doing. This was important because Martin would insist that Jon suffer with the rest of them. He could still hear everything, even if he couldn’t see what was going on in any of the other rooms.

\---

This was no longer fair.

After slipping away that morning, Martin hadn’t seen Jon since, and didn’t like the fact that Tim could only focus on him and Sasha. And Martin knew Jon wouldn’t have gone home or taken the day off. He would be hiding somewhere, trying to do work, and not telling Martin where he was. Martin knew there was a chance he was hiding somewhere else in the Institute, but that was quite a small chance, since he was pretty sure Jon didn’t know his way around very well after four separate incidents (1. Jon got lost on his way back from Elias’ office, which wasn’t too far from the entrance, 2. Jon got lost in the library, and ended up camping out next to the lycanthrope section for several hours because he was too ashamed to text Martin, 3. Jon got lost on the way _to_ Elias’ office the first time he wasn’t led there by the man himself, 4. Jon got lost on his way back from research, where he worked for several years, and Tim found him near Artefact Storage because they had to send out a search-party).

Martin entered the breakroom, filling up the kettle, and automatically getting four mugs out: Sasha’s ‘Aro and Amazing’ mug, Tim’s ‘Boo-sexual’ (with little bi-flag ghosts) mug, his own rainbow ‘Nobody Knows I’m Gay’ mug, and Jon’s pink ‘Totally Straight’ (with a unicorn silhouette) mug - Tim had insisted that they all had to have them at work, as the previous mugs were plain, this was made official when he ‘accidentally’ broke them all at the same time. As Martin set Jon’s cup down, he asked aloud, “Is it worth making you one? Would it draw you out?”

Jon was quietly seething, as he finished the flask some time ago, and would like a cup of tea. But Tim was out there.

“Oh, hi Sasha, tea?” Martin offered, as she slumped down at the breakroom table, picking bits of glitter from her hair.

“Yes please. Any luck finding Jon?” she replied.

“Not yet, I was just wondering if tea would draw him out.” He finished pouring the water into the mugs, and headed for the fridge for milk, then filled up Sasha’s mug first and handed it over. That was when Martin remembered something. Something that might help him locate Jon, if he were in the vicinity, and if not, he’d let Sasha in on the plan so they could re-play the scene if need be.

“Sasha, have you ever heard of a band called The Mechanisms?” Martin gave a sly grin, waiting to see the faintest movement or hear it from anywhere around them. If anything were going to get Jon out of his hiding place, this would be it.

From behind Sasha, Martin noticed it behind the air vents, making his eyes widen and pull the biggest of grins. That, and the slight sputtering, was when Jon knew the gig was up. “Got you,” Martin said, enunciating each word. Sasha turned around to see what Martin was talking to and muffled her laughter at the realisation.

“Jon, are you in the air vents? Oh my god,” she snorted. Then there was some very quick shuffling: he was trying to get away.

“Oh no you don’t!” Sasha warned, putting her tea down, throwing her jacket off, kicking off her shoes, then rolling her sleeves up, shouting at Martin, “I’m going in.” And she was off.

Martin could have stopped her. Martin could have done a few things, but he wanted to see how this was going to play out. He could hear them both moving around in the vents, and after hearing Sasha yell, “Fuck off, Jurgen!”, there was around 10 seconds where the movement sped up, ending with a few undignified yelps from Jon. Moments later, Sasha appeared at the door with Jon in tow.

“Hi…” Jon didn’t look at Martin, deciding that his shoes were more important than being scolded. Instead, Martin raised an eyebrow in amusement, and handed over Jon’s tea.

“You aren’t getting out of it all that easily - you know that right? Tim’s been looking for you all day,” he commented, “Ooh, speak of the devil.” On that cue, Tim ran in, beaming.

“There you are! You’ve missed so much!” teeth showing with the grin, which, while it was always nice to see Tim happy, it was ever so slightly terrifying.

At this statement, Martin and Sasha glared at him, “What? They could have been worse. You know, Jared offered to lend me some bones. Don’t want to know where he got them from, but it was still mildly sweet.”

The looks then changed to extreme concern.

\---

"Sasha, what’re you doing?”

For the past ten minutes, Sasha had been removing anything breakable (cups, c’mon, it’s mainly cups), putting them into cupboards. The main reason this was bizarre, was that Sasha _never_ tidied up - she was as bad as Tim when it came to health and hygiene, but she had slightly more common sense, even when borrowing the Archival braincell. “Oh, you didn’t think Tim was going to get away with everything this year, right?”

Martin and Jon gave her the same confused look they had when Tim came in eating from a jar of mayonnaise once, to the point that Sasha rolled her eyes, and opened the cupboard under the sink: there were three, quite large Nerf guns, with a stupid amount of foam bullets. “This year, we fight back. Here.”

She passed one each to Jon and Martin, before flinging the strap of her’s around, and tying a tie - that she most definitely didn’t have before - around her forehead, and a random hoodie around her waist.

“Sasha,” Martin said, trying not to sound like he was laughing _at_ her, “you look like you’re ready for an apocalypse. How long have you been preparing for this?”

“Erm, long enough? I just have this image of Jon accidentally starting the end of the world, so I want to be ready. Anyway, I look cool! You look like the nerdy cousin who’s joining in because an adult told the others to include you, and Jon, you look like a weaponised lentil.”

\---

Tim was aware of the silence, but then again, they might have all been hiding from him. It did hurt a little, being alone again. Especially today, without Danny. Before getting any further with the thoughts of his younger brother, Tim decided to attempt making his own cup of tea, which was the first he’d made in a while, since Martin was a walking tea-trolley. The thought of Danny made Tim start messing with his shirt, his April Fools' Day Hawaiian shirt - no one knew what that would look like until he showed up with it. Usually, the light in the breakroom was on, but it wasn’t something he put much thought to as Tim flicked the switch and was suddenly ambushed with Nerf bullets.

“Wait! No- no fair!” Tim guffawed, as he legged it through the Archives.

“GET HIM!” screamed after him, although he wasn’t sure who from in all the commotion (t’was Martin), and from the stampede and the odd bullet hitting him.

To his horror, Tim found that Jon’s office door was locked, so he needed to find a quick way out of the Archives, possibly up to… that wasn’t a bad idea. He turned around, and shielding himself with his arms, Tim ran at full force towards his attackers, making them slow in bewilderment, and moved to the side, primarily to see what Tim’s plan of action would be as he couldn’t see where he was going.

Unfortunately for Tim, his lack of sight was the downfall in his plan to run up to Elias’ office - they would never shoot at double-boss (or at least, he didn’t think they would). This lack of sight meant that Tim had to guess at where the wall ended and the doorframe started, and he was off by a long shot. Not one of them stopped him, foreseeing Tim running directly into the wall, and had plenty of time to stop him from doing so. No, they instead watched, and waited a moment, before Martin stepped over and just fired, laughing as the mania hit. Sasha hadn’t expected his morals to exclude this behaviour, but by the adoration on Jon’s face, he did, as the two of them joined in shooting at close range.

“Okay! Okay! You win! Peanuts! Peanuts!” Tim squirmed; grin as big as ever now that his co-workers were actually joining in. Some people shouted ‘uncle’, but they weren’t some people, and also weren’t entirely sure where it came from (but if you asked Rosie, all she remembers was that it had something to do with an office Christmas party from a few years ago).

With Sasha, Jon, and Martin all aiming, Sasha spoke, “Do you promise to stop until next year now?”

Tim had had his fun this year, so it was only fair, “Yes, alright. I’ll stop. I won’t set anymore up today.” The last bit had been worded very carefully, and it had not escaped Jon’s notice.

“What do you mean by you ‘won’t set anymore up today’? Tim, what have you done?”

“Martin, just watch out for your desk draw - the top one. And there may, perhaps, be pinchy-clawed creatures in the bathroom…”

The other three took one look at the others, and fired their last bullets in sync, before Jon headed to Martin’s desk, in the hope of whatever it was not hurting his partner (they felt a little old for the term ‘boyfriends’), and Martin called the Institute’s version of pest control.

“Oh, come on… Hi Daisy! Are you busy?” Martin asked into his phone. There was some muffled speech on her behalf, then “yes, Tim did. He just said that it’s got claws. Yes, he’ll reimburse you for it. Thank you so much.”

And in that moment, Tim knew that he needed to start planning next year’s pranks much sooner than normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, see how there are so little details on any pranks of Tim's because I gave myself a deadline and couldn't be arsed thinking of any...


	4. John 11: And Jesus Said, "Hide Them Eggs"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Easter Bunny has visited the Archives, and Tim is very, very excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favourite one
> 
> No TWs x

There was a sigh from Jon’s office. It was still April, wasn’t it? At least Tim was having fun with this.

“Tim. Have you- Have you hidden chocolate eggs all around the Archives?” Jon called out from his office, before walking out with a knowing look on his face and holding an offending pink chocolate egg.

Tim, on the other hand, had a mixture of delight and confusion on his face: “No… oh my god it’s happening! Sasha, the Easter Bunny is real!” he yelled, running to the break room to find her. Sasha and Martin were talking about what was on the table in the corner when Tim leapt in out of nowhere, and then spotted it too. Unfortunately, Jon followed him, and regretted it instantly. In the middle of the break room table, were 4 different-coloured baskets (pink, purple, green, yellow), with matching bunny ears, and a note.

Sasha picked up the piece of paper, and read it out loud (because Tim, quite frankly, was shaking with so much joy he might throw up), “ _Hippity, hoppity, happity Easter! Guess who? It’s me: the Easter Bunny! I’m so egg-cited that Easter is here, aren’t you? It’s such a magical time of the year. A little Easter chick told me that you’d all been working eggs-tremely hard since Christmas and deserve a break - so I have hidden 40 chocolate eggs around the Archives for you to find. Have an egg-cellent time - Signed The Easter Bunny_.”

Martin couldn’t help but smirk a bit, he knew exactly who had done this, because some people can’t keep their voices down when planning events, but he wasn’t about to ruin Tim’s dream of the Easter Bunny being real - especially not now Tim had snatched up the pink basket and donned the ears, looking at everyone else expectantly. “Jon, pLEASE!”

Jon visibly gulped. He couldn’t say no, he really couldn’t. But if he could just get out of it… “You can all go ahead; I just have to go…”

Before he could edge out of the doorway, Sasha stepped out, “And what’s more important than an Easter Egg Hunt? Do not say work.”

“I left my cat on the stove.” Jon realised what he’d said 3 beats after.

“Goodness. Well, we can’t be having that. Purple or yellow?”

“... Purple.”

\---

The Easter Bunny had done a very good job of hiding them, almost as though they wanted to embarrass each member of the archival team. Out of the five in Jon’s office, one of them was hidden at the back of his desk drawer with the poetry Martin had written during his stay, making Jon turn bright red and Martin laugh a little (“You live together, why is it in your desk?”). Normally Tim would have loved all of this, but at that moment, he was a man on a mission. And he’d just realised they might be in the desks. The others got this slightly too late and failed to stop Tim bounding over and pulling them apart - but Sasha did get to his desk quicker. “And let’s see what we have in here,” she pulled the top draw out, and placed it on some paperwork, and took the blue egg, “Wait. We appear to have an artist!” Tim’s eyes went comically wide as Sasha pulled out the lined paper scribbled with sketches of someone Martin did not recognise. “Is this the guy you saw in Tesco yesterday?” Silence indicated that yes, this was, and Sasha turned to the others, “Tim took one look at him, and forgot how to use his words. I swear their life together flashed in front of his eyes,” she laughed.

Jon squinted at the sketches, “Is that Oliver Banks?”

“You know Prince Charming? Can you get me his number?”

“I’ll think about it,” was the answer, and only because Jon was worried that Tim calling him ‘Prince Charming’ would lead to him losing many shoes for his own Cinderella moment. "But he's going to be the death of you."

In retaliation to the ‘find’, Tim squinted his eyes and smiled. “Anyway, if we’re playing that game, Sasha, do you want to explain this?” He held up a file labelled ‘Work Stuff’.

“Timantha Stoker you put that back!”

"You'll never take me alive!" And he scrambled out of her way.

What no one noticed, was that Elias had chosen this moment to go down into the Archives to ask about one of the files, but after witnessing two fully-grown adults (debatable) running around and in between three desks wearing bunny ears, he decided the matter was for another day, and left to retrieve a bottle of wine in his office. “Oh, I give up,” he muttered, and walked away from the chaos.

Jon took this moment to turn to Martin and whisper, “Run and grab whatever it is in your desk _now._ ”

“What makes you think I have anything embarrassing in my desk?” Martin’s response stopped Tim and Sasha in their tracks. “We all have homes to go back to at the end of the day - why do any of you keep that sort of thing at work, knowing any of us could find it?” It appeared that Martin had the Archive’s brain cell that day. After Tim and Sasha had gone through his draws, it was concluded that Martin was right and the matter ended after Tim insisted that everyone should see the contents of ‘Work Stuff’, as it was only fair, before continuing with the task at hand.

\---

It took the four of them two hours to find 39 out of 40 eggs, and an extra hour of them all re-counting the eggs to make sure there were 39 and not 40. Tim found 21/40, which only added to the conspiracy theory that he was just a golden retriever in a Hawaiian shirt (an _Easter_ Hawaiian shirt, I might add), Sasha found 6, Martin found 9, and Jon found the other 3. Which left one. Each one of them scoured their brains for where they hadn’t looked: they checked the fridge, all the drawers, bookshelves, the supply cupboard, the stairs… where was left?

“Did anyone check Melanie’s old office?” Jon asked. No one had. This was generally because when she did work at the Magnus Institute, it was a very dangerous room - especially when she had knives. “It should be safe enough to check, right?”

Tim grabbed a mop from the cleaning cupboard, which, once they had all positioned themselves so if anything did come at them it shouldn’t hit them, he pushed the door open from a distance with. The lights were on.

“Took you long enough,” a voice came from inside, and they all peered around the doorframe warily. Melanie was sitting at her old desk, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, holding the last foil-coated chocolate egg, “I guess you’ll be wanting this then, otherwise someone’s going home with only nine.”

“Hello Melanie. I take it you were our Easter Bunny,” Jon smiled, walking into the room and promptly followed by the others.

“Not quite, she had some help,” Georgie appeared from behind the door, with a camera held high, and taking multiple pictures very quickly, before anyone could take their ears off. “And not one of you knew!”

Martin coughed, and raised his hand a bit, “I knew. Neither of you are very sneaky, or quiet.” Georgie looked like a small child whose balloon had just floated away for a moment, before regaining their pride, “Well, either way. Happy Easter to all!”

“Can we leave now?” Melanie asked, after a few moments of silence. 

\---

It was now 3PM, and the four of them were sitting in at their desks drinking tea, after the busy day they had had - all but one of them had removed the ears.

“You mean, the Easter Bunny was just a crazy cat person and a knife-wielding lesbian?” Tim looked like his entire world had just come down around him.

Sasha turned to him, “You didn’t actually think that the Easter Bunny was real, right? Because I think I might have some rather upsetting news for you.” Martin looked at Tim from over the top of his computer, and Jon peered out of his office. They had to hear this.

“It could be!”, he dug out a folder from his bag, “Right, so considering that we work in a place that looks into the paranormal, and all of these different creatures exist, what’s to say that the Easter Bunny isn’t real? Or the Tooth Fairy, or Father Christmas?” he started to go through the papers, holding up documents every so often, “It’s entirely possible. I’ve been looking into this for _years_ now, and there’s enough evidence to say they are. If you think about it, the Tooth Fairy is just an avatar of The Flesh, Father Christmas is The Eye because he’s watching for good and bad kids, and the Easter Bunny is a mix of The Stranger, for the unknown element of hiding the eggs, and the Spiral, for the madness that is a giant rabbit hiding eggs.”

There was silence as everyone stared at Tim, before Sasha spoke up, “Maybe what you need is a nice lie down.” She stood up, and Tim followed suit, nodding softly, as she led him away.

“That was a bit like your game, Martin,” Jon commented, trying to fill the silence, but just received a quizzical look from his partner, “The one with the animals, and that creepy rabbit people hit with their nets.”

At the realisation of what Jon was talking about, Martin became incredibly defensive, “Why does everyone hate Zipper?! He doesn’t have to do any of it, but he chooses to try and bring people some joy, yet he gets attacked!”

Jon raised an eyebrow, he whispered, “Do _you_ need a lie down?” Martin smiled, rubbed at his eyes, nodding. “Let’s go home. I’m sure The Captain is missing you, and we can just spend the rest of the day… embraced?”

Martin had to laugh at this, “Do you mean cuddling?”

“...Yes. Come on, before Elias comes down and asks us to do something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with the Tooth Fairy being an avatar of The Flesh at 3:35AM, one of my housemates reluctantly agreed. The other helped me with the other two.


	5. Trick Or Yeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The annual Archive's Hallowe'en party. With Elias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: drinking alcohol and Elias.
> 
> Also, Elias takes a jab at Michael being non binary, but it's really mild and Tim fucking goes for him.

It was the office Hallowe’en party. Jon did not want to be there, as it all felt too childish (apparently, he’d forgotten the rest of the year).

_There was a knock at Jon’s office door, and Sasha entered before he could say anything. “Hey, so we’re going to have a bit of an office Hallowe’en party tomorrow evening, and we were just wondering if you’re free?”_

_Jon was aware they were planning a party, and rather confidently explained, “I promised to babysit Rosie’s children” as he stapled some paper together._

_Sasha stepped further into the room, a glint of Knowing in her eyes. “Huh. I never took you for the babysitting type. How old are they?”_

_“... Seven and nine.”_

_“Rosie’s children are 16 and 21. Also, after a rather lovely conversation with her on the way in, both of them are attending different Hallowe’en parties.”_

_“Yes, that sounds about right. What time does it start?” Jon put his head in his hands, allowing his muffled voice to just about be heard._

_She smiled, “Starting at seven, and please wear a costume. Even if it’s minimalistic, although Martin probably has some ideas. Hey, have you ever thought about what Martin would say if you got away with one of your god-awful excuses?” Jon shook his head._

So now he was at a Hallowe’en party, finishing his first bottle of wine. It was 7:30, they’d been there for 30 minutes, because Martin had insisted, they arrive on time (Jon had no complaints, since he didn’t want to be there anyway). Jon was quite ready to take off the headband he’d been forced to wear and snap it in two right now. Sasha wasn’t wrong when she said Martin may have had some ideas, thankfully it was ‘minimalistic’ as well: Jon was a moth, and Martin was a lamp. Although Martin’s was arguably not a costume, as he was only holding a torch to begin with - it was only after Jon’s jab at Martin’s costume not being as decorative as his. So, after a scowl he couldn’t keep up for very long, Martin had made a lamp headdress.

The others… the others were dressed up too. Sasha was in an avocado t-shirt with angel wings and a halo (‘holy guacamole’); Georgie was dressed as an athlete with medals, and carrying a loaf of bread around (‘breadwinner’); Melanie was in a t-shirt labelled ‘blessing’ with the false glasses and nose (‘a blessing in disguise’); Basira was in a ‘Error 404’ t-shirt; no one questioned why Daisy wasn’t wearing a costume, because quite frankly they were all too afraid; Elias, because apparently ‘creepy boss’ wasn’t enough, had a tacky pair of red horns and a little cape. But Tim.

Oh Tim.

Tim had been planning this all year.

“I’m not very surprised, but Tim. What are you wearing?” Sasha asked, putting her drink down.

“Loungewear.” He smoothed his dress out where it was riding up his leg. Tim was dressed as a hot sauce packet. Simple enough, yes, but this was Tim. He was a _sexy_ hot sauce packet. On the arm of some guy the others vaguely remembered from the pub some time ago, Tim had waltzed in, in a bright orange, strappy dress, with the words ‘Hot’ and ‘Born Saucy’ on, with a pair of sleek black stilettos. (Tim had been wearing his Hallowe'en Hawaiian shirt around the office all day, as he really didn't want to mess up this outfit. It had pumpkins and bats on.)

“Well, this could be worse,” Melanie admitted, before offering to hand to Tim’s date, “Melanie.”

They returned with a handshake and a smile, “Michael.” Ohhh. It was the one Tim hadn’t shut up about for two weeks. If it hadn’t been a Hallowe’en party, no one could have been sure it was a costume - Michael was just… swirly. Contacts and everything. It was making Sasha feel nauseous, but she desperately didn’t want to offend. After a few introductions, they left to collect drinks.

“He seems... nice,” Georgie attempted.

“ _They_.”

“Oh, sorry! They seem nice,” they recovered - secretly pleased at finding another they.

“I thought you were still trying to get coffee-girl’s number. Y’know, the one from Impresso Espresso that sits alone, and doesn’t drink her orders,” Sasha went on as Tim gave her a confused look. It eventually dawned on him.

“Oh, you mean Agnes? Yeah, no. I was scared off by a woman who, I assume, was her girlfriend, by how she reacted.” There was a slight flashback, that they all watched play on his face, as Tim recalled being ‘spoken to’ by an angry short woman who could have easily beaten the crap out of him. He shuddered.

Jon stepped in, out of nowhere, to collect another bottle of wine, followed by Martin, hand in hand. “Hi, sorry, just want- Basira, that is a wonderful costume. I wish I’d thought of that.”

“Oh, cheers,” and she _actually smiled_. “Best way to get out of it, right?”

“Yes, I agree. Although the ‘moth’ idea is rather growing on me.” Yep, Jon was drunk. Still eloquent as fuck though, and he most definitely didn’t notice Martin’s blush as he continued, “It helps when there’s someone you trust to do it with.”

Michael had returned with drinks, so Tim was at least pleased not to be sober for this ordeal. The whole point of the parties was that they mucked about, not that Jon could talk about getting away and fawn over Martin - no matter how pleased Tim and Sasha were when Martin finally yelled at Jon for his behaviour, then they somehow got together (we all know the story, it's fine). “Ooh let’s play a game! Come on, I’ve got an idea,” Tim grinned almost as much as Michael. He left momentarily, only stumbling once, before returning with several rolls of toilet paper, “Toilet paper mummies! Okay let’s see…” Michael was too busy talking to Elias, who just looked done with it all, so Tim gave a thumbs up and continued, “Let’s make this interesting. Me, Martin, Georgie, and Daisy versus Sasha, Jon, Melanie, and Basira. Georgie and Melanie as the mummies?”

Normally, any of Tim’s ideas would be met with sighs and eyerolls, before he had to offer up a prize, but everyone had either had enough to drink, or was already very competitive. “Okay, Blackwood and Stoker on head and torso, I’ll start at the legs. Are we clear?” Daisy ordered, making Georgie concerned for their own life, if they were going to ever escape from the toilet paper after this. Melanie, on the other hand, heard Tim shout “Go!” and proceeded to just scream at the others to hurry up, and do a good job of it so they could win.

“Only because I’m afraid of who won’t win, maybe we should call it a draw?” Martin stage whispered to Jon, who practically ran over to be by his boyfriend once the competition had ended. Martin had always loved Tipsy Jon™, because he was as affectionate as he was at home, which meant Jon became something in between a fridge magnet and an octopus. Big eyes stared up at Martin with a nod, and a collective agreement from anyone who wasn’t Melanie and Daisy.

\---

After extracting all of the paper caught on his outfit, Tim considered whether or not to go and get Michael. As much as he wanted to enjoy the evening with his date, Michael was really annoying Elias. Oh well. “Boss! Thanks for looking after Honey Bunny for me,” Tim greeted, linking his arm with Michael’s.

On the other side of the room, where the others were still tidying the paper up, Sasha, with her back turned to Tim, spoke, “I knew we shouldn’t have let him watch Pulp Fiction.”

“No problem, Mr Stoker. Your _boy_ friend is rather… intriguing to talk to.”

Tim’s right eye twitched, as Michael grabbed hold of his forearm. He knew Elias was only doing it to piss him off, but even so. Two could play at that game. “They. It’s they. How is Peter? I thought he would be here.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he spat, “Probably in the middle of the Pacific by now.” Everyone knew they’d divorced for the 7th time (that they were aware of) a few days prior, mainly because Elias always made a point of being seen with mascara (crocodile) tears and ice cream in his office, while blasting Mitski, but also because they’d all actually heard the ordeal go down this time. Something about whether or not to put vanilla flavouring in cupcakes, though it was highly doubted that either man had baked in his life. “I’m sure he’s having the time of his life. Anyway, I should leave you all to it. I have… business to attend to.” Didn’t stop him from taking a full-sized Pumpkin cake and a fork with him though, did it?

“Alright. Now he’s gone, who would like another drink?” Martin offered, watching the others give a grim look to the drinks table, at both bottles of wine. “Oh, sorry. I forgot,” Martin laughed, pulling one of the tablecloths back enough that everyone could see what was under the table: actual, proper booze. Like, 40% strong, proper bottles of alcohol. And crisps. Many bags of crisps.

“Oh Martin, I could kiss you,” Tim gawked at the sight, then moved towards the bounty.

“Don’t,” Jon growled, who became more clingy at the comment.

Martin spent the rest of the evening/night watching Tim trying to drink Melanie and Daisy under the table, Jon eat an unnatural amount of Monster Munch, Georgie drunkenly showing everyone pictures of The Admiral, while Basira attempted a conversation with Michael.

In the end, all but Basira and Daisy (who were sober enough to walk home) fell asleep: Jon and Martin somehow underneath one of the tables; Tim, Michael, and Sasha against one of the walls; Melanie on top of one of the tables; and Georgie on the floor, with one foot in the fridge.


	6. Let Us Celebrate The Attempted Mass Murder Of Parliament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Bonfire Night, and Tim isn't allowed near pyrotechnics.

Before Tim had even suggested they all gather together, he had spoken to Martin about the cat, and if the Captain was afraid of fireworks - she wasn’t, and Martin arranged for a neighbour to look after her anyway - in case Jon tried to use her as an excuse to get out.

_“My sister is coming over.”_

_“You don’t have a sister.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“What’s her name?”_

_“...”_

_Tim got up from the chair in front of Jon’s desk, “Martin knows the details, see you there.”_

_He was already out of sight when Jon eventually came up with, “Oh. Oh! Cat! The cat doesn’t like fireworks!” shouting and running over to the work desks, forgetting that Martin wouldn’t have gone home without him._

_“I do sometimes wonder why we’re together,” Martin said, in faux seriousness._

_“Yeah, I wonder that too,” Tim remarked, earning him a thwack from Martin and two extra files thrown at him from Jon._

While he hated to admit it, Jon thought it was all rather lovely. There was a reasonably sized bonfire that the eight of them were gathered around, a stash of drinks and snacks in Daisy’s car, and he had stolen two of Martin’s jumpers - and even then, Martin had bundled Jon in a huge scarf and woolly hat. It may have been mildly undignified. Then again, so was Easter.

But there he stood, one hand wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate, then other entwined with Martin’s. Everyone was leaning against their partners (or best friends, in Tim and Sasha’s case), soaking in the warmth from the fire.

“Nikola not joining us?” Georgie asked, innocently. They’d heard rumours about the bizarre person Tim was meant to be bringing, as a rebound from Michael.

“No, they have a thing about fire. Some accident, they didn’t go into it. Anyway, it’s nicer that it’s just us lot,” Tim winced, then started to throw more wood onto the fire.

Daisy started to squint into the flames, “Wait. Whose desk is on the fire?”

“Oh, that’s mine,” Sasha stuck her gloved hand up, “Tim nicked the Institute’s card, and him, Jon, and Martin went to IKEA to buy me a new one. I had the day off, so it was a nice surprise to come back to.” She’d been complaining about it for some time, and the others agreed that since she should have got The Archivist job, she could at least have a shiny new desk. It had been a good day.

The three others nervously looked at each other: it had not been a good day.

As the only one of them with a car, Tim had driven (and not very well, mind) them to an IKEA. This was the first hurdle, as they got lost just finding IKEA, as Jon tried to use a map, while Martin attempted Google Maps, causing a slight argument (“You two are the reason mummy drinks, you know that.”) and Tim threatening to make them walk the rest of the way. The next step was locating the section with desks, and Martin having to physically restrain Tim from hiding in wardrobes (“Come on, Marto! We can pretend to be from Narnia!”) while Jon sulked at the loss of holding Martin’s hand. Even after finding the right desk, they had to find their way back out. Navigation, apparently, was not on the Bisexual Checklist, as Martin tried to follow Jon (who was too sure of himself for a man who got lost in between Elias’ office and the Archives. Twice.), and then noticed that Tim had gone missing. An hour later, they’d located Tim, unsurprisingly in one of the wardrobes (“I wanted to relive some old memories” “Tim, I highly doubt you spent any time in the closet- shit, where’s Jon gone?!”), then going to find Jon in the kitchen section, looking at sets of cutlery (“What? We’re still missing a teaspoon, and I wanted a replacement.”). Two hours later, they’d made it back to the car park, and vowed to never do that again, unless Tim was wearing one of those harness and lead things toddlers have to stop him from walking off again, and Jon had a tracking chip.

What should have been the final hurdle, was putting the desk together. Martin had left them for three (3) minutes to make cups of tea, and when he came back, Tim was crying, and Jon was hitting his head against the wall. It didn’t matter that they had all the pieces, and the instructions were in English, it wasn’t going together. If it hadn't been for the thought to go out for lunch, calm down, and go back to it, the collective breakdown would have been much worse. By the time the three of them returned half an hour later, the mess was nowhere to be seen. In its place, was Basira reading a book and a completed desk (“Sorry, I came to drop this statement off, and I like puzzles.”).

“Well, I’m glad you liked it,” Martin offered, then mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Basira when Sasha wasn’t looking and took a sip from a hipflask that had appeared - no one would have been surprised if there was tea in there.

“Firework time!” Tim cheered, running over to the box he’d managed to hide in the open.

“Timothy, step away from the pyrotechnics, now!” Sasha chased after him, and the cheap Bic lighter he was trying to light.

“Don’t let Martin do it, either,” Jon snorted, earning a warning look from his partner, “What? It could set your arsonist streak off again.”

“Jon, that was one time! Alright, it may have been twice.”

Daisy piped up, “I have to know. Martin. You _have_ to tell us.” They were ignoring the two idiots who were still running around, and Jon’s chortle.

“I may have set two toasters aflame. But it was an accident! Jon, stop laughing,” apparently an elbow to the arm only made it worse. “It wasn’t this funny. He’s just being mean.”

Jon eventually did stop laughing, even though Martin’s scowl and crossed arms at the situation was funny too. “So, who’s setting the fireworks off then?”

“I would, but to be honest I’m not sure why I was invited, considering I can’t see them,” Melanie huffed.

“I’ll do it then,” Georgie announced, planning on explaining to their wife that it wouldn’t be the same if she wasn’t there. “Stay put for a sec,” pecking Melanie’s cheek, and retrieving the lighter from Tim and Sasha. They had ended up play fighting, toppled on the damp grass, but Tim’s extended arm made it easier for Georgie to just pick it up, snickering at the pout from Tim and gloating from Sasha. In fairness, Georgie was probably the best person to do it, after all, they had the most brain cells.

“Sash, look what you’ve done to my shirt!” Tim complained, showing her the mud stains.

“The others I get, but how on earth did you find a Bonfire Night themed Hawaiian shirt?”

“A magician never tells his secrets,” he looked very proud of himself.

“Yeah,” Sasha, knowingly, “But when you do magic, it’s very obvious how you’ve done it.” She was referring to the previous Thursday when Tim had attempted a card trick in the break room. They were still finding the cards he’d dropped. It’d taken them three hours to catch that rabbit, too.

“Oi! Get over here!” Basira yelled at them, as Georgie had been politely waiting. Once Tim and Sasha were in the clear, along with the others, Georgie lit them, and ran back to Melanie so they could watch too.

As the fireworks went off, everyone huddled together to watch the light display. It was these moments when they would think about their family, the family they had all made. The Institute’s version of pest control and coaster-thrower; the IKEA-furniture-building ex-police officer; the blind, knife-wielding lesbian; the multiple-braincell-owning podcaster; the mother hen/tea god/spider saviour; the immortal space pirate with no navigational skills; the tech-nerd-turned-Nerf-Rambo; and the boy who believed in the Easter Bunny. Maybe it wasn’t traditional, and maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. 

This was their family. It was little and broken, but it was still good.


	7. 'Christmas Is Coming' Michael Bublé Emerges From His Cave

Martin had been thinking about this since September; Jon had been thinking about this since May. Both of them had been thinking about how to one-up the other on Christmas morning for too long, and both of them thought they’d been really clever about it. They really hadn’t.

The Captain had been prowling the foot of the bed for the last ten minutes without being noticed, wanting her presents NOW rather than when they woke up on their own, like a petulant five-year-old. She eventually gave up with being subtle and sat on Jon’s face.

“Morning- oh, Captain,” he yawned after moving her aside slightly, snuggling closer to their cat and his Martin, equally. If The Captain was human, she would have pretended to be furious, but as a cat she deeply appreciated snuggles, and instead lay against both of her owners’ hearts as they attempted to claim more warmth. As much as Jon wished he could go back to sleep, it was no use, and Martin had noticed, even if he hadn't opened his eyes yet. It wasn't even 7:30AM - this was one of the very many reasons they shouldn't ever have kids, Martin smiled at the thought. Cats were enough of a handful. As was Tim.

"Good morning," Martin stifled his yawn, and allowed his eyes to open momentarily, if only to look upon the sight of Jon scrunching his eyes shut and huffing. He glanced at the time, and knew they needed to get up. Their neighbour had been looking after Jon's present, and Martin knew she'd be coming over to drop it off soon.

There was a knock at the door as they made their way to the tree (which was adorned by tinsel, thanks to Jon, and to the dismay of Martin), and Martin insisted on getting it while Jon stayed put - it was Mrs Culpepper with a reasonably priced bottle of red wine, and Martin gave her her bottle too. After making sure Jon was putting the kettle on instead of paying attention to what was under the tree, Martin tried desperately to put his gift there, covered in reindeer themed gift wrap.

“Martin, would you mind?” Jon called from the kitchen, wanting tea, knowing full-well he couldn’t make it himself.

“Of course, love.”

Once tea was made, both of them sat on the sofa, looking between them and the fake tree, before Jon eventually pushed Martin towards the gift, he had bought him. It was in metallic silver paper, and shoddily wrapped (meaning that Martin didn’t notice the holes in the side), but it was almost certainly a box. “Oh my god,” Martin whispered as he saw what was inside - there was a tiny ginger kitten (the exact same shade as his own hair) staring up at him in utter bewilderment, “Jon… I… thank you,” he took a moment to kiss Jon, who melted at the contact, before carefully picking the little cat up and holding it like it was his whole world - it almost was, but there was at least one person in front of it in the queue. “It’s funny, really.”

“Why?”

Martin gently laughed and nodded to the other box, which had been reasonably wrapped, his neighbour had helped drop off, “Open yours.”

As Jon did as he was told, he saw a similar sight: a slightly (and I mean fractionally) larger Siamese kitten on a bed of straw. “Oh goodness,” he laughed, and copied Martin’s earlier movements, being careful of the creatures between them, “Thank you, Martin. Maybe we know each other a little too well,” he chuckled.

“I guess we just need to name them.” This was the moment a creature of pure white fluff, The Captain, chose to make her entrance, in a very much _‘please remember I do exist’_ way, making both Jon and Martin huddle with the new kittens and her.

Jon really couldn’t believe his luck, especially after everything that had happened, supernatural or not, but Martin was right: they needed to decide on names for their new kittens. He stared straight (har, har) into his kitten’s blue eyes, saying, “I shall name thee The Sergeant.”

Martin sighed with a smile, “Well then, little one, I guess you’re The Lieutenant.” Jon made a noise at this, as though it was unfair that the fluffy thing was of a higher regiment, but he soon gave over, it wasn’t as though Martin could name her without a regiment - it wouldn’t be fitting otherwise. They proceeded to sit, huddled for the next hour or so. Well, long enough before Martin had to get up to start Christmas dinner, and for Jon to miss his main heat source. 

All in all, it was a pretty good Christmas morning for Jon and Martin.

\---

Tim’s morning, however, consisted of “Happy Holidays, please get out of my flat”, as he turned to the random guy whose legs were tangled with his. The hangover was unpleasant, but at least Tim knew he’d had a good evening and that it would be over by that afternoon. Maybe Sasha remembered it better than he did - Tim did worry about Sasha being lonely that morning, more than he would ever admit, sending a quick greeting to check up on her. They were all meeting up at Jon and Martin's for their Holiday dinner, so it wasn't like he wouldn't see Sasha, he just wanted to make sure she was alright. Within three minutes, Sasha had replied that she was fine, thanking him for the gift, and that she was on her way over. (In case anyone was at all interested, Tim had bought Sasha some staples. Specifically, lots of staples, because three days prior, Sasha had complained that she was running out of staples. Tim thought it was funny, some may interpret it as lazy writing.)

Sasha's morning was reasonably uneventful, to say the least. Tim would have been jealous at the completely non-existent hangover - it wasn't that she didn't drink, it was just that she could handle it better than the lightweight of a man he was. After deciding not to tie her box braids back and leaving her chipped nail-polish as it was, Sasha made her way to collect Tim from his flat, being the only person in the Archives who could drive. As Sasha was about to knock on his door, it opened to a man their age, with badly dyed black hair, making his way out. "Sorry," he murmured, and quickly walked away. She raised an eyebrow at Tim.

"So, you did go home with him," Sasha teased.

"Yes, and we had fun. I'll tell you all about it later," Tim replied, putting his coat on. Sasha didn't want to know all about it, but she knew there was no stopping him. Maybe asking Tim if he remembered the guy's name...

\---

Martin liked the idea of them all gathering together for Christmas, especially as some of his had been particularly Lonely. But what was the point of dwelling on the past? He was stirring a pan of cheese sauce (it had been pre-determined that there wouldn't be a traditional Christmas lunch, for a few reasons including that Sasha was a vegetarian, and Martin wanted them to all have the same meal, and so yes, they were having macaroni cheese) while staring lovingly at his new baby sitting on the worktop, enjoying neck scritches, and glancing over at Jon, with an equal amount of love in his heart. Jon was, and he would never admit this to anyone other than Martin, cooing over The Captain, who had claimed the other kitten as her own (if Martin had let go of his, she would have _two_ kittens, but she was waiting for him to look away for a moment before she claimed the other). Martin managed to get a short video without Jon noticing, and went back to preparing food and not giving into the huge eyes the kitten was giving him. She couldn't have cheese sauce, and she knew it.

There was a knock at the door at 14:18 - admittedly they were almost 20 minutes late, but Martin knew they would be. Sasha and Tim greeted them with hugs and had almost handed over presents when they saw the new kittens. "Jon," Tim said, breathing deeply, "You have... may we pet the babies?" with pleading eyes to match Sasha's.

"Does it matter if I say no?"

"No!" both of them squealed, left the gifts at the door, and immediately gave them (not Jon and Martin, because that would be weird, but not unlike Tim) tiny scritches, so very gently, and Sasha kissed The Captain without a moment's thought, despite The Captain being slightly irate at her moment for claiming the second kitten being stolen. There was always Boxing Day.

"Presents?" Martin quietly suggested, trying not to ruin this tender moment between his friends and his and Jon's cats. That, now that got Tim and Sasha's attention in so much that they moved so any feline was placed upon a lap. Sasha pointed at the bags she'd left near the door without looking away from the ginger ball of fluff gazing into her eyes - Jon raised an eyebrow at Martin and fetched them like her personal assistant.

"They're labelled, by the way," Sasha finally looked up, and smiled as both opened the neat wrapping paper covered in snowflakes. Jon carefully undid the sellotaped edges to find three bottles of 'Fuck Off Spray', making him laugh, knowing that once The Sergeant was standing far enough back, Tim would be getting a face full of it. Martin was a little bit more reckless with his, finding a fancy brand of tea that he hadn't managed to get any of for the last year - it must have been his complaining in the Archives that did it.

"Thank you very much, Sasha," Martin grinned, handing his and Jon's over to her. For Sasha, they’d bought a t-shirt that said ‘Tech Support Hourly Rate’ with a list and some aromantic style dice for their bi-weekly DnD nights, whereas Tim’s present was a few pairs of bi-flag and rainbow socks, and a mug with a ‘Bisexual Checklist’, which included ‘finger guns’, ‘puns for daze’, and ‘cuffed jeans’.

“Wow, anyone would think I was straight. Thank you,” Tim said, actually looking up from the kitten in his arms.

“Yeah,” Sasha snorted, “Especially after you went home with that guy last night. Do you even remember his name?”

Tim paused, racking his brain, as Jon and Martin gave Sasha a befuddled look, and then it came to him, “Gerry! That was it. Probably. Good looking too,” he looked very proud of himself, as Sasha pretended to be sick.

Tim got his from Jon and Martin before remembering that he had presents for them too - but The Sergeant was being clingy, and Tim didn't want to move, so he just nodded at them. Martin couldn't help but laugh when he saw the wrapping paper: Tim forgot to buy anything festive, so instead opted to use 'Happy Birthday' paper and scribbled either 'Jesus' or 'Jesis' underneath in marker pen. Jon had the decency to not pull a face. Each of them received mugs, Martin's said 'fuck off, I'm knitting', and Jon's said 'good luck finding better co-workers than us, loser'.

\---

There was another knock at the door. Nothing overtly sinister, but The Captain started hissing at it, like there was something evil coming for them. She wasn’t wrong.

It was Martin who got up to go answer as everyone silently watched.

“Ah, Martin. How are you?” It was Elias, standing there as though he had been invited to the meal. The rat bastard. Behind him, Martin could hear a sudden shift, as Jon, Sasha, and Tim dove behind furniture so they wouldn’t communicate their presence with their boss. And hopefully so Elias wouldn’t manage to invite himself in.

“Oh, hello Elias. I’m fine… thanks. You?”

“Very well, thank you. Anyway, I am here because I heard that the Archival staff were having a small party,” there was an audible gasp from Tim, who was unsuccessfully hiding behind the sofa arm as his Christmas Hawaiian shirt (not the same one from New Year’s) stuck out, “Don’t worry, I’m not invading, I have… other engagements to attend. But I thought I would bring you this as a gift for all your hard work this year,” Elias had that same smug smile on that he used when giving them extra work or talking about the dress code. He turned his head to the side, where there stood another man that Martin had not noticed before. He looked fed up, like Elias had been dragging him around all day. He held out two large festive gift bags that clinked as they moved.

“Oh, thank you!” Martin panicked a bit, his voice going up, “Erm…” he looked at the other man again.

“Ah, this is Peter.”

“Ohhh, you’re Peter. Nice to meet you,” Martin remembered Elias talking about Peter, his on-off husband. By the looks of the wedding bands, they were currently together.

“Yes, well, we best be off. Enjoy your holidays, all four of you," he shouted the last bit, staring directly as Tim's shirt. Elias grabbed Peter's arm and dragged him down the corridor.

Martin slowly shut the door, mainly in confusion. Elias being nice was… it meant that something was wrong, usually. Tim’s head shot up, “That was spooky.” That earned him a glare from Jon, who Martin had to stifle a laugh at, as he and Sasha had chosen to ‘hide’ under the table.

“Huh. It’s drinks. Someone want to grab some glasses?” asked Martin, after peering into the bags, and unpacking them onto the table. Elias had given them six bottles of... wine? None of them were particularly sure, but it looked drinkable [see, this is where the writer drinks cheap stuff, and thinks wine over a fiver and spirits over 15 quid is fancy - it isn't] so they added it to the drinks collection after opening the two bottles.

\---

Not long after, the four of them sat around the table, eating and drinking, reminiscing about past antics. Primarily Tim’s past antics. “Do you remember that time you tried to fit into a dryer?” Sasha laughed, adjusting her paper hat.

“Oh god, I do,” Martin joined, “If I hadn't grabbed you, I think we’d have had to call the fire department to retrieve you. I’m not even sure you were drunk.”

“Hey! If I’m pretty sure I was dared to, and people forgot about my determination.”

Jon put his glass of wine down, a small smile playing on his lips, “Do you mean like that time you tried to eat a full pineapple and almond cream cheese roll? Because I seem to remember Martin saying something after a spoonful about not being able to finish it.” The roll in question had been perhaps 10cm long, which had made it all the more funny when Tim scoffed, left for the shops on his break, brought it back, and attempted the feat.

“I got a third of a way through and thought I was going to die,” Tim groaned, “That was only in June. It feels like much longer ago. I can’t believe this year is nearly over.”

Everyone nodded at the comment. Martin asked, “How many days left is it now?”

“Please don’t do this to me. I can’t do reverse maths.”

Jon nearly choked on his drink, but managed to compose himself before giving Tim a mildly horrified look, “Do you- Tim, do you mean… subtraction?”

“Drinks! We all need more drinks!” his diversion did not, in fact, go unnoticed, as nobody moved, allowing Tim to pour himself a glass of white wine and drain it, before refilling his and everyone else’s. 

\---

The rest of the day had gone off without a hitch, as the four of them lay in front of the telly, watching The Snowman, full to the brim with food and drinks - and yet, no one actually stopped drinking.


	8. Happy National 'Hear-Fireworks-All-Day-And-Night-Being-Set-Off-By-Drunk-People-You-Wouldn't-Trust-With-A-Glowstick' Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back again at the pub, for the last time that year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's more wholesome, and just wrapping it up.  
> TWs: drinking alcohol, and Tim gets to shout at an ex.

It all started with a knock on Jon’s office door, which he expected to be Martin with tea. To his dismay, it was Tim.

“Hey, boss. We’re going out for drinks at New Year, and wanted to know if you and Marto would be joining us?” Tim asked, grabbing the back of a chair, so he could sit and listen to the latest excuse.

“Yes, we will be.” Wait. What?

“... Sorry?” He never said yes. That was the fun of it, listening to Jon’s awful excuses.

“Yes, we’ll join you. What time are we meeting up?” Jon said, not even looking up from the statements he was stapling together.

“Did Martin already tell you that you had to come?” Tim had sat down now, mainly in an attempt to deal with whatever was happening. He even pinched himself at one point.

“No, I just know we aren’t doing anything, and Martin likes the work outings, and therefore I’ll be there too. So…” still stapling. Bastard.

“What? I mean, nine. We’re meeting at nine.”

Tim didn’t remember getting back to his desk. Sasha started waving her hand in front of his face, “Tim? Tim, what happened in there?”

“I-I don’t know. He said yes. Jon said yes, no excuse or anything,” he rambled.

Martin appeared from the break room, “What? I’m… I’m just going to…” and he followed in Tim’s footsteps, not even knocking as he entered his partner’s office.

“Oh, hello Martin,” Jon smiled, putting the statement in his hand down.

“So we’re going to the New Year’s party tonight. You said yes. Without an excuse.” Jon just nodded. “... But you hate social events!” Martin had slumped down in an empty chair out of frustration. Something wasn’t right.

“I don’t hate going out with our friends, Martin. Anyway, the excuses were getting old. I had to stop eventually.” Jon looked… happy. Happy at the concept of going out with their friends. Alternatively, he was just happy to see Martin, which was probably closer to the truth. It didn’t matter how long they’d been together, their love hadn’t dulled down (Melanie had called it their ‘honeymoon phase’. Hypocrite.) over the years, and they still looked at each other like their partner was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen - which, incidentally, was correct for them.

“Alright, but just- just let me know if you change your mind. It’s not that I don’t like seeing you happy, it’s just different,” Martin explained, leaning over the desk for a peck on the lips, “Good different.”

\---

The pub was exactly the same as it was last year, even down to whatever show was currently showing on the television in the corner. They’d managed to get the same table again, but what had changed was Jon’s insistence that Tim not order him a drink again, so he and Martin were getting this round - five pints for the theydies and ladies, red wine for Jon, white wine for Martin, and something blue that Tim had had to go to the bar himself to ask for. When Jon returned from his first trip taking drinks to the table, there were three shots on the bar. In a hushed tone, Martin said, “Quick, before the others notice,” and watched as Jon downed them, not having to be told twice.

Everyone knew that Jon drank red wine. That was the only alcohol he’d drink, except on the rare occasion he would drink spirits. However, this was not entirely true. If there were no witnesses, Jon would chug Sourz like his life depended on it - but he was convinced he’d be teased relentlessly if the others found out. Martin had found this out by accident, about a year after they started going out, only laughing at the fact Jon thought he needed to hide it. No one would have cared, but Jon thought it would damage his professionalism, or what was left of it after Easter Egg Hunts, Nerf battles, and his college band days. “Thank you.”

They took the last of the drinks, taking them over to the joint tables.

“I’m just saying that you must have had it custom made. You can’t find Hawaiian shirts with fireworks and ‘Happy New Year’ on- oh thank you,” Sasha stopped as Martin placed down her pint in front of her.

“I promise I didn’t!” Tim defended, before continuing, “Okay people, how have everyone’s resolutions gone?” He dug around in his bag for a moment, then pulled out the original list of last year’s resolutions. “Melanie, go.”

“While I did eat more cheese platters,” Melanie began, turning to Georgie who was hiding behind their pint, “ _Some people_ didn’t stick to learning about mushrooms.”

“I did! I learnt two new types while in Lidl the other day: sliced and organic. I’d say that’s a success.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of them, as he recalled the frantic text he’d received from Georgie yesterday, asking what their resolution had been. “Alright, Basira and Daisy?”

“Well,” Daisy took a gulp from her drink, and picked up the beer mat underneath, throwing it directly into Tim’s face, “My aim’s improved. ‘Sira hasn’t used a gate properly since January, it has been… I didn’t like explaining it.” Basira’s cheshire-cat smile proved this.

Sasha was next, “I managed to keep to mine, spending more than £4.50 on wine, at least once a week. Even if Martin insisted on tagging along for shopping trips to ensure this, who was also followed by his own stalker.” She looked over at the two of them, and only Jon at least had the decency to look mildly sheepish.

“Which reminds me,” Martin stepped in, “The pillow fights to end disputes has been fun, I think we can all agree.”

Each of them had their own favourite memory, after the Institute (unbeknownst to Elias) had paid for some rather expensive pillows. For example, the events of the 3rd of September had ended with a Archive-wide ban on board games, as Operation caused quite the kerfuffle.

“I pet more cows, too. Even after several people warned me, they can be quite dangerous animals,” Jon declared, as Martin had drummed it into him to _be careful_ , “What about you, Tim?”

“I’ve not actually had any hallucinogens, so I’ve sort of kept it. Huh, we managed it. Look at that! And people say we aren’t functioning adults,” Tim hmphed triumphantly.

\---

It was drawing closer to midnight, and they’d ended up discussing the year’s events, how they had done pretty well considering. Tim chose this moment to get in the next round and realised that Jon and Martin had somehow left the table and snuck off - he checked the clock; they didn’t have very long until midnight. Either way, it was time to get drinks, so they’d have to make do with whatever Tim ordered, and he hadn’t noticed which red and white wines had been purchased. 

There was a familiar figure with a familiar scar, stood waiting for his drinks to be made. "Mike?"

"Oh, hi Tim. How are you?" This time last year, they'd been going through a bit of a rough patch, and Mike had gone out for New Year's with someone else.

"I'm doing great, thanks. Here with my friends, like we do each year," the accusing tone did not go unnoticed.

"Yes, well I managed to screw that up, didn't I? Could I buy you a drink?"

The way Mike was talking, Tim had heard it before. "Yes, yes you did screw it up. And it took me a really long time to get over you, and there were people I could have had a chance with but lost, because I was getting over you. I can't go through that again, so if you ever see me again, don't even say hello. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have friends waiting who actually care about me."

And with that, Tim walked away. His therapist would be very, very pleased. As would everyone else. Who would now have to go and buy the drinks he neglected to buy.

\---

When Tim finally got back to the table, Jon and Martin had finally returned, and there was something different. He wasn’t sure it was possible, but were they sitting closer than before? “Hey, where did you two crazy kids go? I hope you weren’t in the bathrooms,” Tim gave the suggestive eyebrows, allowing Jon to start choking on air.

“Tim! Gross, no! Asexuality exists, you moron,” Martin light-heartedly snapped. Then there was a glint from his left hand against the pub lights.

“Wait… did he…?” the cogs were beginning to move, “That’s why Jon actually wanted to come with us! You traitor, and I thought you just wanted to spend time with your friends.”

Jon spluttered and gave a half shrug, “Yes… well that’s why I asked here. We’ve had good times during the holidays.”

The silence was broken by Melanie, “As I can’t see what’s happening, would someone care to not be so fucking cryptic and tell me?”

“Melanie, we aren’t going to be the only married ones,” Georgie squealed. “I can’t believe non of us saw it coming.”

“I did,” Basira interrupted, “Jon’s not been able to sit still for the last three hours, and I could see the box in his coat pocket.”

“Ha! I win, he texted me about it in a mad panic last week,” Daisy pulled out her phone to show Basira.

“Ooh, 10 seconds!” Tim shouted above them, watching as everyone picked their glasses up, ready.

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

“Happy New Year!” rang out through the pub once again, as tipsy kisses were shared between sappy couples.

“Here’s to 2020 - let’s hope it’s another great year!”

This was their family, their weird, screwed-up, wonderful family that would be getting even closer soon. Nothing was going to keep them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - even if you are one of my housemates, who I have pushed to read it.


End file.
